Toeing the Line
by TheQueenieM
Summary: Harry thinks maybe Draco's got a kink he's trying to keep secret. It's not going to be secret for long.  Just a hot little drabble penned by request. Foot fetishery isn't really my thing, but I think Draco's feet are probably awfully sexy, don't you?


The first time was an accident.

He'd been reaching for bony ankle, trying to make some order out of the chaos of the impossibly long legs, Draco like an albino spider he's trying to wrangle, when he got slightly rough, wrinkled arch instead, his fingers firmly encircling the bare foot as he hefted the weight of the leg. The other lanky limb, already hooked over his damp shoulder, seized abruptly. It couldn't already be- but it was. In spasm: The thick thigh muscle quivering in tandem with the convulsion suddenly owning Draco's prick, hard and dark and delicious against the white belly. Clearly he wasn't the only one surprised; Draco had coughed and then sort of choked and coughed again, the usual sounds of orgasm arriving only after the thick landing spurts had stopped.

Harry had only just started, hadn't even moved past the careful beginning strokes, and neither of them had a hand on Draco's splayed cock at the time. It was more than surprising, it was- it was something, but Harry had tamped down the confusion, the wondering, because the sensation of Draco's arsehole convulsing around his blunt cock made him want to push, hard, so he did, fucking the languid body slowly, steadily, until they were both moaning like someone drugged.

In the blue-black dim of the quiet bedroom, he remembers something else, something he'd forgotten since then. The pink mural on the angular face when he came at the touch didn't look the same somehow, didn't look like the usual simple vascular flare of orgasm.

It had looked like blushing.

He peers over at the long lump beside him: all that's visible is a tiny tuft of white hair above purple sheet. And one tiny glimpse of bare toe at the other end. Harry wonders. He wonders for several minutes. And then he moves.

—

Draco's not a deep sleeper, so he's careful. Slow, the shift of his body weight. Slow, the lift of the sheet from the somnolent foot. He feels- giddy. A little dizzy. Like he's doing something a little wrong, maybe. Something. Naughty. But he's going to do it anyway.

Just _what_ he's going to do is another matter altogether. He's got no bloody idea. This wasn't exactly covered in the innuendo-laden, fact-thin teenage bravado fests in the Quidditch locker room growing up. He's touched every other part of this body, every centimeter - outside and in. And that thought's got his sleep-warmed cock filling quickly. He remembers the first time he put his tongue inside Draco's arse. The heat. _Oh_. But how- what do you do with _feet_?

He's rucked on options, so he does the only thing he can think of. He's- strangely, but also pleasantly... nervous. _Why_ he's nervous he hasn't a ruddy clue, but he is. There's something so- forbidden? about this never-before touching. It makes his stomach flutter, and he swallows a tiny tremor. Where should he- the small one. Definitely the small one. With one last surveying glance up at the cocooned mound, he scoots close and. Oh. The pad of the toe is the same size as the tip of his tongue. Warm. Faintest hint of salt. He wants to giggle, wants to nip the little digit, but wants more to keep doing this undiscovered, so he smothers those urges. Leans down for another lick. Something's happened and he'll never know what. Because just that quickly, he doesn't want to giggle, doesn't want to nip. Wants to suck. With wet abandon.

He bites his lip, swallows the groan. Rocks his leaking prick against the edge of a stray pillow. _Fuck_. It's all suddenly an inferno, and he grits his teeth in frustration. He has to wake him up, now, has to run his hand up his back, into his hair, draw his teeth along the swannish neck, reach down and gently stir the dreaming cock, feel it thicken in his hand, answer the groggy hhgnnn? with a firm pump and a slide across the glans that will get him a very awake yes, and he has to do it _now_.

So he doesn't. Instead, he reaches into his pajamas and squeezes, too hard. The pain clears a space for a moment, and he gets in a deep breath, trying and mostly failing to get it quietly. He has to keep him sleeping, now, has to suffocate the moans in his own throat, reach down and not stir the sleeping foot, draw his tongue across the moon white flesh, and he has to do it _now_.

It doesn't really taste all that different from any other part of him, but the texture, and the shape- he likes it. Gets his mouth over two of the slender toes at once, and it makes him feel exactly the way sucking Draco's cock does: Aching. He wonders how it would make Draco feel. Wonders- Knows he wants him to watch. Wants him to watch him licking and sucking and moaning against his feet. He's going to get his wish if he doesn't stop, because the aubergine lump is shifting, shifting in that distinctive way that signals a rise out of the deep reservoir of sleep. Reluctantly removes his mouth, pulls away the hand softly rubbing knuckle into the narrow arch, down to the heel and back.

Has to shove it in his pants to clamp back the orgasm that's coming, that can't be stopped, only - hopefully - delayed until he can creep across the soft rug and get behind the thick wood of the water closet door and he does and it is, but not for long, because the feeling's still fresh in his mind, the sensation of his tongue thrusting slowly god so slowly between the smooth toes and then the sucking and the rubbing and now he suddenly remembers the sound that first time, just before the cough and the blush, the sound in the white throat the instant his hand had accidentally gripped the arch as he nudged his cock into the tight trembling body, and it's only two- three- oh and a half anguished strokes before he spills hotly over his own hand.

Tomorrow night he's going to do this against Draco's foot.


End file.
